


Open Your Eyes, Don't Walk Blind

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And he acts like it too, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Cora Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Friendship, Domestic Fluff, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski sees all, Stilinski Family Feels, Those two are such bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: The Sheriff of Beacon Hills could be called many things but willingly blind was not one of them. When the supernatural world was shoved before his eyes and he found his son right in the middle of it, there was no other choice for him but to follow in Stiles' footsteps. And he did, willingly; there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for him.He just wasn't expecting to find out the things he did while learning how to swim in the deep.





	Open Your Eyes, Don't Walk Blind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagasnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagasnova/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's day, Nagasnova (and everyone else as well)! It's not _exactly_ what you asked for but... close enough? I hope? I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you like it too <3
> 
> This might even make it into one of my absolute favourites; I just adore Sheriff Stilinski! And Cora. Seriously, this broship is underrated as fudge.

“Dad,” Stiles said, voice muffled against Noah’s jacket. “Could you let go of me?”

Noah shook his head and buried his hand in Stiles’ hair. Stiles’ face, the moment before Noah grabbed him into the death grip, was burned into his mind: dirt littered on his cheeks, brow bruised with flecks of red that had to be blood, and dark circles around his eyes, enough to make them seem sunken.

“No.”

“But daaaaaaad—unh.”

The whine that broke out after Noah tightened his hold on him twisted a dagger in Noah’s heart. He immediately loosened his hold, pulling back only far enough to check on him. He dug his fingers in Stiles’ sides, ignoring his squirming and trying to see whether any of his bones were bruised.

“Dad. Dad—dad, _dad_.”

Deeming the bones fine, Noah took Stiles’ head in his hands. He brushed back the messy hair, inspecting the damage. Stiles winced when his fingers lingered on the large bruise forming on his forehead.

“We need to get you to Melissa.”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

“No—dad, no, I’m fine, I’m totes good, like have you seen me? I’m like toast straight from the toaster, all nice and warm and good—”

“And you just need the wrappings around you, like some perfectly sliced ham.”

“You can’t have meat!” Stiles said in an instant. Noah snorted.

“And you are not toast. Yet. Come on—Melissa?”

Melissa looked up from where she was fussing over Scott. The same Scott who Noah had known since the McCalls had moved to Beacon Hills, the same Scott whose brown eyes were now redder than the blood on Stiles’ forehead, both refusing to go away.

“Could you check on Stiles? He’s—”

“Fine, I’m _fine_ , dad! God, don’t make this into larger than—”

“—hurt and refusing to see sense. He’s hit his head—”

“—told you it’s nothing! Compared to the bath to the death this was just a—”

“The bath to _what_?”

Stiles froze, and Scott with him. From the corner of his eye, Noah could even see Chris’ daughter shift uneasily. His mind went blank before the pieces from past hours connected together.

“You died,” he said. Stiles paled further and Noah noticed the bite on the lip, a sign of guilt inherited from Claudia. “For us.”

“To save you,” Chris’ daughter said quietly. “We couldn’t find you and—we didn’t—”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Stiles whispered. Noah’s heart broke.

All this time.

Right under his nose.

What kind of a Sheriff was he? What kind of a _father_ \--?

He pulled Stiles to him again and, this time, Stiles gripped back just as tight. His son shivered against him but there were no tears spilled. It was the shock, Noah mused absently, carding a hand through the mess of Stiles’ hair.

Claudia would be so disappointed in him for not putting the pieces together. She had always called him a sceptic, and this proved it. Noah needed to open his eyes and not walk blind, refusing to see what was in front of him without all the evidence—because sometimes there were none.

Sometimes things just _were_.

Noah sighed and pressed a kiss against his son’s temple.

For Stiles.

***

Noah sighed, glancing longingly at Mike as he walked past his door. The whiff he got from the bag—clearly from the nearby diner—smelled heavenly. His stomach growled in response. It reminded him of the way he had heard the Hales growl the past nights, the way Scott had growled in return.

…Werewolves.

 _You just need to believe_ , Claudia whispered and laughed in his ear.

The sigh turned into a groan and Noah let his head fall into his hands. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Being the Sheriff of Beacon Hills was supposed to be nice and quiet, reflecting the slightly lesser pay of its hectic city counterparts—on paper, that was. A small town in northern California, even with the addition of the county, was no LA, which was exactly why Claudia and he had decided to relocate there after she had finished with her studies. He would have gone anywhere for her—the police were always looking for new faces—but she had wanted to go for a small town, similar to one she was from but had no family to return to. They had been looking for a place like that when Noah’s colleague pointed them in the direction of Beacon Hills.

One weekend trip later Noah had a job as a deputy, Claudia had an interview for the position of an English substitute teacher the following week, and they had their eyes on a house on sale. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if there had been another reason she had decided that Beacon Hills was perfect for them, to build the family they had wanted.

His eyes found one of the pictures of Stiles on his desk. He was smiling there, just as awkward and gangly as Noah himself had once been at eleven years old. He had his arm around another boy with a dark mop of curls and bright dark eyes—not red, not yet—that was Scott. He reached over and traced the smile on Stiles’ face.

He was their fourth and only.

After every heartache and tear-filled night, the disappointed looks after false hopes, Noah almost giving up if not for Claudia’s insistence that they _would_ have a child, and she taking her leave right after finding out she was pregnant for the last time, their little boy arrived into the world. He literally couldn’t have been more hoped and awaited.

Which was why Noah’s failures after Claudia’s passing made them all the more grievous.

A knock and another whiff of food drew him from his thoughts and he found that same smile on the face of his son, just older. Dressed in a graphic shirt that actually fit and hair stuck up with just enough gel to look like it was all natural, he looked like his age for once.

Stiles waved the bag before him. “I got you your lunch, daddy-o,” he said cheerfully and entering the room completely. “It’s from the new vegan place near the hospital.”

Noah rolled his eyes and held his hand out.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t had my burger yet this month.”

“And you still have five more days to get it,” Stiles said. “And this is a burger.”

“It doesn’t have bacon or real cheese on it; ergo, it’s not a burger.”

The bag was deposited into Noah’s awaiting hands. Its contents did smell good, though Noah would never admit it out loud. Not when their little game of cat and mouse always brought a smile on Stiles’ lips.

“A burger is a burger is a burger,” Stiles said, and added, “I’m going to Derek’s tonight. Apparently there’s been weird things happening though no one knows really what that means, but at least there are no alphas this time luckily, what a nightmare it was last time, yeah? And the Nemeton, now that we found it, has been acting weird, Deaton said, and he actually said something straight so something must be rotten in the state of Denmark though since it’s nowadays part of the socialistic welfare countries I think they are well off anyway, better than us, but what do I know, so the whole pack’s going to be there for a meeting. So. I’ll be back later?”

Noah’s senses tingled as he filtered the word vomit. With another sigh, he gathered the files of unsolved cold cases— _open your eyes, Noah_ —in front of him, stood up, and grabbed the bag with him. Stiles blinked, confused.

“Where are you going?”

Noah took his jacket and threw it over his shoulder.

“I’m coming with you.”

Stiles blinked again and then he was off, protesting and waving his hands. Noah listened to his complaints that insisted that they “could handle it” and that “you should take it easy, you aren’t as young as you once were, you know” and that “I won’t get in trouble this time, I promise”, before he interrupted.

“Stiles.”

His son fell silent. They stared at each other.

“I almost lost you too,” Noah said quietly. Stiles winced at the reminder and his expression clouded. Noah reached for him with the arm holding his dinner and pulled him into a quick hug.

“I’m not going to let you face anything without me there.”

“But you have work,” Stiles protested weakly. Noah knew Stiles wanted more than anything to keep him safe, that he hated seeing him in danger and was most afraid of losing him.

However, the same went for Noah.

“Nothing that cannot wait,” he replied. “I’m overdue for a few nights off anyway.”

Stiles didn’t protest again. He tried to take Noah’s files to carry but got only the cooling dinner for his troubles. Noah knew his son well enough to know that had he handed him the cases, Stiles would forgo sleep in order to help Noah solve them.

It wasn’t the first time he had caught his son snooping around.

“I’m taking the evening off, Sarah,” Noah said. Sarah bopped her head around her fries.

“It’s a slow evening,” she said after swallowing her mouthful. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t. We are undermanned enough as it is.”

Stiles winced beside him, but Noah only laid a reassuring hand over his back, rubbing it for good measure.

It wasn’t your fault, he wanted to tell him. He had heard the story and the blame was entirely laid on the feet of one dead teenager and one hopefully dead geriatric.

He just wasn’t sure if Stiles was ready to accept that.

“Have you eaten?” Noah asked as they entered Claudia’s old jeep. Despite the false starts, it moved surprisingly smooth even after all these years and having faced all kinds of shenanigans—and dangers.

Maye she was still watching over Stiles when he couldn’t.

“What—oh, yes, sure, yeah!” Stiles answered, a little distracted. Noah snorted.

“So no. Let’s drop by that vegan place and get you a meal as well.”

“I mean—”

“If I’m eating it, so are you.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it, smile pulling at his lips. It made the circles around his eyes look less severe.

“Sure.”

They did stop by, snatching a sandwich and a sort of a cold pasta dish with them, before driving towards the industrial area. It wasn’t the safest, Noah knew, and he couldn’t help but scowl at the thought of so many teenagers hanging out in such a place, werewolves or not.

A thought formed in Noah’s mind. It wasn’t pleasant.

“He couldn’t get an apartment anywhere else, could he?”

Stiles’ eyes flew wide. His fingers spasmed on the wheel, though without causing any sudden swerves, Noah noticed.

“I didn’t— _shit_.”

“Language.”

Stiles parked abruptly behind a car that Noah recognized as Melissa’s. He scrambled out, barely managing to grab his keys before he was rushing towards the door on their right. Noah’s brows climbed up. He took his time, gathering his files and their dinner and checking whether the doors were locked.

They were.

Satisfied, he followed Stiles into the big building that couldn’t look more aversive than it did. It had to be one of the old ones that were never really finished. He had heard what felt like years ago from the older deputies that they were built when people thought Beacon Hills was going to grow into something… more. And then left that way when it didn’t bloom the way the nearby cities did.

Noah couldn’t help but wonder whether that was influenced by the supernatural as well. The Hales were werewolves and up until they died, things had been relatively calm. He flipped through his files as he followed the sounds of echoing footsteps and loud voices.

Most of the cold cases appeared after January 2005.

He snapped the files shut, his step lengthening. He reached the level—top level too, so Hale lived in the loft?—where most noises were coming from, and—

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Noah heard Stiles yell. It cut through the steady flow of conversation, putting it to a sudden halt.

Definitely the right floor.

Noah walked inside from the door left open. He looked around though there wasn’t much to be seen, with few pieces of furniture and blanks walls and… was that a hole? He closed the door behind him absentmindedly, turning his head just in time to see Hale cross his arms.

He should probably start calling him Derek in his mind, he thought, seeing the still officially missing Peter Hale hanging in the back. It would get confusing otherwise. They might have to do something with that though.

“Tell anyone what?”

Stiles’ arms flew up, waving them like he was about to take off. Derek took a small step left to avoid being hit.

“I would have helped you, you know? Or got someone to help, I don’t know, but you should have—”

“Stiles!” Derek barked. Stiles’ mouth clicked shut loud enough for Noah to hear. “What are you talking about?”

“This!” Stiles waved his hand, gesturing the whole place. “I knew it seemed weird you’d turn a place like this into your new wolfy den when there’s no forest nearby but—I would have helped you to get a better place. It was my fault anyway your reputation sucks ass right now, mine and Scott’s, and we would have—”

Noah listened to Stiles’ rant. There were a few teenagers about and a sad number of adults in their midst. There were the Hales, yes, but that was basically it. Noah recognized Scott, the Lahey kid, and one Lydia Martin, but then there was another girl with a scowl that he could swear looked familiar.

“I mean, to be fair, it was a step up from the old train station,” Scott pointed out, interrupting Stiles. Stiles whirled around, hand waving in his direction.

“Yes!” he said. “A minimal step! A snail step! And with even less snail goo!”

“Snails don’t have steps.”

“ _Exactly_.”

Wait a second.

Noah pulled a file from his pile and flipped through it. His eyes fell on a line that said:

_Three survivors; an adult male in a coma and two teenagers, male and female. Eleven deaths, ten bodies found._

His eyes set on the scowling girl, now recognizing the damning features.

Apparently Cora Hale wasn’t as dead as was presumed.

Another thing to fix.

Noah took his place by Scott’s side. The kid looked at him uneasily, eyes flashing red briefly before he ducked his head, shuffling his feet.

“Is Melissa here?” Noah asked. Scott shook his head.

“I took mom to work and she let Isaac and me borrow her car today.”

Melissa did sort of adopt Lahey, didn’t she? He would have to hit her up soon. If only they weren’t undermanned both in the Sheriff’s station and the hospital. He could see the door slide open and Scott perk up. The Argent girl poked her head in and Scott waved her in. Chris came in with her, looking sour and like he didn’t want to be there but was convinced otherwise.

There was his gold mine.

“This is not a place fit for a pack, Derek. Stiles is right on that,” Hale—Peter said. Derek glowered.

“Not an alpha anymore.”

“But you are pack!” Stiles insisted. He pointed at Scott without even looking. “Right, Scotty?!”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Scott said. He gave a bewildered look at Stiles’ finger which kept jabbing in his direction.

“See!”

“You are not going to let up, are you?” Derek asked then. Some of his frown had slipped away, leaving behind an expression more tired than anything else. There was a small slump on his shoulders that wasn’t there before either.

Scott left Noah’s side to go greet the Argent girl who was by now sitting with Lydia and Lahey, with Chris himself standing somewhere behind them. Noah didn’t give them much thought, however. His focus was mostly on where Stiles was now standing by Derek’s side, fingers inches away from him, almost afraid to touch.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Stiles said softly. If Noah wasn’t actively trying to listen, he might have missed it. “We know it’s not your fault.”

Something dark settled on Derek’s face. When Stiles _did_ touch the man’s arm, it spasmed a bit, as if unused to a touch so gentle.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that. That was on me.”

“And me,” Peter piped up from behind them. He was leaning against the staircase, relaxed and there was a smug expression on him that only a man guilty with no evidence of it in sight could be. Still, Noah noted, there was a flicker of something there, something that was directed towards Stiles.

He forced his face to relax. It wouldn’t do to start a scene, not without said evidence.

Stiles’ grip tightened on Derek as he leaned back to look at Noah.

“Dad will vouch for you, won’t you?”

“To get a better apartment? House?” Noah replied easily.

Stiles opened his mouth—

“To rebuild.”

\--And there it was, snapping shut and eyes growing into saucers. Stiles’ head whipped around to stare at Peter. Peter stared back.

“That’s what Derek wants, doesn’t he,” Peter said like it wasn’t even a question. Stiles turned to Derek, imploring. The glower on Derek’s face was back but there was a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

Stiles licked his lips.

“Do you—” his voice trailed off before he coughed and started anew. “Do you want help? With that?”

Derek stared at Stiles like he couldn’t believe the words came out of his mouth. Noah could relate to that. Only years of experience saved him from being fazed whenever Stiles blurted out something or another, depending on the leaps his mind made.

This wasn’t one of those times.

Noah couldn’t help but see Claudia in Stiles. The eagerness to help those she had deemed hers, the ferocity she reserved to those who deserved it—the good and the bad. And Stiles had the same fire in the eyes he shared with her.

And he had bestowed that honor upon Derek.

“I, uh,” Derek said. Even from Noah’s vantage point he could see the tips of Derek’s ears redden.

“He would like that,” Peter translated. Derek shot him a look, which only earned him a shit-eating grin.

Stiles beamed.

“Dad?”

Noah gripped their now cold dinner and the even colder cases. He thought about the files that had all those names, forever lost, never found. He imagined if Stiles only had a house of ashes left.

“I’ll call Ben tomorrow.”

***

The chatter inside the Sheriff’s station was cheerful despite the overworked state of its deputies. Maybe it was the amount of coffee each of them drank or the energy drinks that were had in between. Or the chocolate. Or the greasy diner food.

All things Noah couldn’t touch even with a long stick.

Well, except for coffee. That was one thing Noah wouldn’t give up. There was a reason Boston was famous for its tea party.

A short, sharp rap on the door drew Noah’s attention from his papers. Derek stood there, looking more than awkward with the way Noah could see his deputies kept their eyes on him. He sighed and gestured the poor boy in, motioning him to shut the door after him.

Derek shuffled in and did as asked without a quip on secret business and gleaming eyes on his work. He was very different from Stiles, Noah noted, taking in his appearance. Not for the first time he wondered if the supernatural were blessed with supernatural genes as well. He still remembered Talia and Joseph, both extremely attractive people, and all the Hales he had come in contact with. He remembered the obituaries and the pictures inside. All very good-looking—

\--All too early in their graves.

Noah rested his arms on his desk and crossed his fingers loosely. He nodded at the chairs on the other side of his desk. “Sit down.”

Derek followed his words again, settling down on the chair surprisingly gingerly. He looked like he was going to get scolded.

“Stiles said you wanted to see me.”

Noah stilled for a fraction of a second but recovered quickly. He had assumed he would do all the talking—Derek didn’t seem like the most talkative person, especially when cornered—but—

Stiles.

Of course.

He nodded instead, shuffling his papers as if he was looking for something. He wasn’t, of course, he knew exactly what he was searching and where it was. He glanced at Derek, who kept looking sour and uncomfortable, but not once did he seem interested in the official papers in front of him.

Noah hid a smile, pleased.

He pulled a couple of papers from the midst of them, sliding them over to Derek. He took them carefully, eyes setting on them carefully. Noah watched as they widened and snapped to his. A question was impressed in them, begging for an answer which Noah was all too happy to give.

“Your record’s clean,” he said. “And the Hale properties are yours again.”

“Why?” Derek asked, blurting it out. Noah’s brows rose.

“Why?” he repeated. “Why not?”

Derek didn’t seem to know the answer to that. Or, no, not exactly, Noah realized. More like he didn’t think he deserved that. His mind flashed back to what he had found on the reopened Hale case, the things he had learned from Stiles, the way Noah had pestered Chris enough to help him pin everything on the real culprit, Kate.

He had suspected there had been more to it, something unpleasant, and it seemed like his hunch had been correct. And Derek would have been, what, fifteen? Younger than Stiles was now.

Just imagining the evil in the woman and her deeds made his skin crawl.

Noah tackled on, “in the light of things, it is only right that the past if corrected. You were innocent, _are_ innocent, so it shouldn’t haunt you anymore.”

Derek stared at him and then back at the papers. All the properties in and around the preserve, the few apartments downtown, the—

“The money—”

“Chris gave what Kate had amassed in her life and some of Gerard’s funds as well,” Noah said. Derek flinched as if hit, so he quickly continued, “I know you probably don’t want them. You can do whatever you want with them, donate them, use them to out the kids through college, I don’t know. I remember hearing something about rebuilding.”

Derek’s eyes met Noah’s again. Noah’s lips twisted into a half-smile.

“I think she would have hated that.”

A surprised bark of a laugh made its way out of Derek’s mouth. He shook his head, eyes still wide, as he traced the papers that proclaimed assets which could never replace the things he had lost, the newly found status of his only living sister, the official records of those lost.

His fingers trailed the names of his family, jerking to a stop when they reached one more name.

He said gruffly, questioning, “Laura?”

Noah found himself looking at any clues Derek would give when he answered. “That’s your choice.”

Derek blinked slowly. He took in a breath, slow and wavering, but when he exhaled it turned quick and steady, determination bleeding in it.

“She was a monster.”

Noah nodded. He separated one of his papers to be destroyed and another one to Derek. A small smile made its way on Derek’s face and Noah knew the decision he had made was the right one.

“Tell Peter to come to the station. We have to recover his identity.”

***

“Sir? What did Hale want?”

Noah flashed a smile at Nicole. She gave her own grin back, sunny and cheerful, the wrinkles around her eyes lighting up.

“Just giving him the necessary legal papers for his properties,” he said. “An awful thing, being suspected of the murder of his sister and never gotten his name cleared. What a shame. If the real culprit hadn’t been caught, it could have destroyed his life altogether.”

Nicole blinked several times and she leaned in, just as Noah had known she would.

“He didn’t do it then?” she asked quietly.

Noah shook his head. “The case is still not completely finished, but no. Even then he managed to find his uncle, just woken up from his coma and wandering around the preserve confused, and—imagine this— with his last funds got him the help he needed.”

The gleam in Nicole’s eyes was hungry and excited as she took his Noah’s words, dripped in the sugar he was supposed to avoid. “Such a dear, isn’t he?” she said. “Doing all he could for the family he had left.”

“And with his only living sister found alive as well—” Noah pretended to look surprised and then a little regretful. “I said too much. This is just between us, all right? We can’t have details like this all over the town while the investigation hasn’t finished.”

Nicole nodded quickly.

“Of course,” she said, but tellingly didn’t swear to it. Noah ignored it and smiled at her again, before going to the lunch room for his third cup of coffee. His fingers itched to add something to it or have something with it but didn’t. He had self-control, no matter what Stiles said.

As he walked back to his office, he bet silently that the Hales’ situation would be whispered across town in less than two days, turning them into the darlings of Beacon Hills that could do no wrong.

It paid to keep the ringleader of the Beacon Hills’ gossip circle working right where she did.

***

Noah pulled into a stop and gave a long look at the vehicle parked in front of him. The Camaro had become such a familiar sight around the neighborhood that even the nosy Mrs. Fletcher from down the street didn’t bother tittering much about it anymore. Not to Noah’s face, at the very least. Not when it became clear that he wouldn’t stand more slander piling on Derek’s shoulders, after Nicole’s words spread.

He had to keep Stiles out of jail somehow. The kid would raise hell and high water if someone decided to fuck with Derek again like that. Sometimes Noah couldn’t help but wonder if that was due to guilty feelings, but it was probably more that Stiles had adopted Derek like he had Scott once upon a time. He wondered if that made Derek a honorable Stilinski.

The keys tinkled in his hand as he picked out the right one. He absently noted that the door was locked—good—and dropped them by the small cabinet next to the shoes. Stiles’ few pairs were messily on top of each other but there were a couple of unknown ones in the midst of them and in far better order.

His stomach growled.

It had been far too long since lunch.

“Stiles,” he called out. “Any dinner?”

“In the fridge!” Stiles hollered back from the living room. Noah sighed, happy in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to order in. He stopped at the doorway, looking in on the scene before him. He blinked slowly, taking it in.

Stiles was sitting on the floor with magazines spread around him in an order that wasn’t something Noah could follow. Derek was there, no surprise there, sitting on the couch with one on his lap too. He had a pad in his hands, a pen ready as Stiles talked a mile an hour, pointing at different things—patterns, they were patterns, and colors of all kind—and was dutifully taking notes.

Someone yawned and it drew Noah’s attention. The girl Hale—Cora, his mind supplied—was staring at him, assessing, before she just up and ignored him in favor of the window. It bemused him, just a bit, but he just filed it under the slowly filling category in his mind that he had named aptly ‘werewolves and other curiosities’.

“Did you at least do your homework?” he couldn’t help but ask, cutting into Stiles’ rambles. Stiles blinked owlishly as his train of thought dissipated into thin air.

“Uhh,” Stiles said eloquently. Cora snorted, not bothering to hide it one bit. “Yes?”

“Was that a question?”

“No?” Stiles tried again. He scratched his head, mumbling to himself, “what did I have today…?”

Noah wanted to despair, just a little.

“Chemistry,” Cora said. “English.”

“Oh. Oh! No, we’re good, daddy-o,” Stiles said. “I have an essay for Monday, but I’ve already done, like, half of it, and the rest I just did during the free period.”

“Glad to hear you’re on top of your game then,” Noah said dryly. Stiles winced and shrugged sheepishly. “Just don’t let—”

“—your GPA drop just because werewolves are a thing, yes dad, I know. You should give that lecture to Scott, not me. I’m still, like, just a point or two after Lydia, despite all of this. Unlike Mr. I-need-summer-school-again-asap.”

Noah’s brows rose. “That bad?”

Stiles shrugged again.

“Them hormones, man.”

Derek muttered something that must have been unflattering based on the swat he got on his knee.

“Dude, stop it. He’s trying his best.”

Derek’s eyebrows clearly disagreed, and Stiles disagreed with the eyebrows, and then they were snarking, forgetting Noah was even there. Noah turned back to Cora, finding her giving him another cursory look.

“How are you settling in?” he asked.

Cora’s expression didn’t even twitch when she answered, “fine.”

“School treating you alright?”

The little movement from her shoulder must have been an answer since she gave none verbally.

“Well,” Noah said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

After another long look, Cora nodded, a marginal move that as well. She glanced at the arguing duo where they had turned back to what seemed to be bathroom color schemes.

Since when had Stiles become an interior designer, Noah wondered. Cora seemed to wonder the same about Derek if her slightly bewildered look was anything to go by.

Noah was already turning around before an idea struck.

“Do you want some dinner?”

Cora’s attention was back on him. Noah gave her a half-smile.

“No idea what it is but, knowing Stiles, there’s plenty to share. And—” he lowered his voice, knowing she could hear him across the room and over the argument turning to banter turning to—

He really didn’t want to know. Stiles didn’t himself either before his eighteenth birthday if he was smart about it.

“—You would save me from leftovers tomorrow.”

Cora’s lips twitched. “Thank you.”

Noah hummed in a reply and headed to where the kitchen was. He couldn’t hear Cora follow him, but he was certain she did, leaving Derek and Stiles argue about the merits of different shades of greens and blues.

He opened the fridge.

“So. What can I get you to drink?”

***

Two weeks later Noah found himself squinting at the sight of one Peter Hale leaning against the wall between two shops, boxing Stiles in. It didn’t look indecent, not exactly, but Noah was quite certain he could see the air charged between them… and if he did, so did others. And if there was one thing he didn’t need, it was concerned phone calls about the Hales when the buzz had finally started to slow down.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t even seen Hal—Peter since he had walked in the station with Derek and Cora and cleaned all their records, so to speak, and set them straight. A strange week, that; purging the records of a murder suspect, raising a girl from the dead, and bringing someone who had _actually_ died and then resurrected back to public records—not that anyone but them and the rest of the crew knew that fact.

His head hurt just thinking about it.

He slammed the car door shut and he didn’t imagine the slight stiffening of Peter’s back when he started walking towards them.

Good.

Noah wanted him to know he was coming.

“—and one last thing—oh hey, dad!” Stiles’ rant was interrupted as Noah stepped into his view.

“Son,” Noah said. “Hale.”

“Peter,” Peter quipped back, as if Noah didn’t know that. Noah gave him the flattest look he knew.

It might be his name and Noah might call him that in his head, but he didn’t have to do so aloud.

“Peter’s back from reestablishing his gangster life,” Stiles said cheerfully. He didn’t appear to be in a hurry to escape the far-too-close-to-be-innocent-but-too-far-away-to-be-criminal circle of Peter’s arm and the wall of the alley. Had Noah not noticed the tell-tale red hoodie of Stiles’, he might had missed them altogether as he stopped for the lights.

Which, he realized, wasn’t the greatest of things although he supposed he should be glad this meant less concerned phone calls in his near future.

Wait, what did he just hear?

“What Stiles here means,” Peter drawled, “is that I’ve been away to reconnect with my contacts.”

“Mafia.”

“Though I am glad you think so highly of me, I’d rather you stop helping me out,” Peter said, giving Stiles a look. In return, Stiles stuck his tongue at him in a true Stiles fashion.

“I am an antique collector,” he continued, focusing back on Noah. He made his moves slow and natural, drawing away from Noah’s son as if nothing had happened. “Or retriever. People contact me to find something for them and I do.”

Stiles’ grin _sparkled_. “Ooh, a treasure hunt!”

“…Of a kind, perhaps,” came the slow answer though Peter kept eye contact with Noah. He still didn’t seem happy that the comparison was so… mundane. “I have to thank you again for giving me back my identity. Doing this, returning to this, would have been terrible without it. The hard-earned credentials, all wisps in the air.”

“Dead have no need for assassins,” Stiles said. Peter just rolled his eyes at the heavens above.

Noah understood feeling that very well.

“You’re welcome,” he merely said. “You were overdue living your life in any case.”

“I’ll say.”

“If you got your life in order, then what about…?” Noah trailed off but Peter picked it up instantly.

“Derek managed to get a job at the local construction company. Your friend, Ben, was it?”

“Ah,” Noah said. Derek must have made an impression if Ben decided to offer him a job as well and not just his services. “He’s doing well then?”

“Much less scowl and fewer wrinkles!” Stiles answered cheerfully instead of Peter. Peter jabbed a thumb at him.

“What he said.”

“He looks younger than you again!”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you calling me old?”

Stiles’ grin turned shit-eating. Noah wondered where he inherited his survival instincts.

…Probably Claudia.

“I mean, you said it, not me…!”

“Why you little—”

“Do you need a ride, Stiles?” Noah raised his voice and the two of them startled, blinking rapidly, as if they had forgotten he even was there.

“I—no?” he tried. When Noah’s brows rose, he slumped. “Yeah, I guess. I left Roscoe at school.”

Which is something that never happens.

“Oh? Did someone pick you up?” Noah inquired, turning to Peter, feigning nonchalance. “Do you need one too?”

“Yeah, Peter,” Stiles said, while Peter answered at the same time, “I’m fine.”

“Alright then,” Noah said. “Let’s pick up your jeep and we can drive home.”

“Uhh—”

“Unless you have some better things to do?”

Stiles quickly backtracked, “No, no, nothing like that! Yes, let’s, I’ll—just see you later, Peter?”

Peter nodded. He didn’t look uncomfortable, but Noah noticed how aware he seemed to be of the distance between him and Stiles. Every time Stiles had moved an inch closer, he seemed to step back the same amount.

“Let’s go then, kiddo. I’m starving.” He nodded at Peter who nodded back, appearing to leave the two of them to be.

Stiles fell in step with him. “Man, me too. Do we have anything in the fridge? No, don’t answer that, you—” Stiles started chattering again, insisting that they had to stop by the Whole Foods and pick up tomatoes, cucumber, things that Noah were spices and the list just grew. Some of them Noah could have sworn they already had. They just bought rice, a big bag of it as well. They couldn’t have gone through it in just a week?

He glanced back saw the man stand next to a nearby SUV and stare at their retreating backs—

No, _Stiles’_ retreating back.

Noah fished his keys and unlocked the car, turning the right way again.

What the _Hale_ , Stiles?

***

A week after that there was another pack meeting at Alan’s behest.

“It’s not Peter’s fault, Scott!” Stiles said, tone tight and body visibly vibrating. “Just because he was out of his mind when he bit _you_ doesn’t mean that everything that came afterwards is his fault!”

“It could be a chain of events!” Scott insisted, throwing a dark look at Peter. The Hale in question stared at his nails, wiping them in his shirt exaggeratingly before giving them another look. Noah noted, however, how his back was straight and legs were settled on the floor, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Derek was glowering too, standing somewhere between Stiles and Peter. His gaze was steady on Scott, with the slightest hint of the supernatural blue.

“This is a far older issue than just a few months or even a year!” Stiles replied. “There’s no way a big magic tree like that rots this quickly!”

“Stiles is right, Scott,” Lydia piped up. She was lounging on the couch, as if she had no care in the world, but her eyes were sharp. Allison sat next to her, eyes darting from one person to another. One of her hands was hidden in her pocket. “This goes back years, if not decades.”

“Dr. Deaton?” Scott said, turning to his boss.

Alan nodded serenely.

“I have been keeping an eye on things for years, Scott,” he said. “While the recent events may have escalated things, it does not mean they are the cause.”

Stiles muttered something quite possibly unflattering, given the snort Cora gave from her perch by the window and the shadow of a smile on Derek’s face. When Noah looked, Peter had already schooled his features if there had been any change at all in the projected indifference.

No, he thought to himself, that wasn’t necessarily true. Peter’s eyes were glued to Stiles’ back, dark in their intensity.

Noah stayed quiet. He had been mostly silent thorough the evening, deciding to observe rather than participate. Despite the crash courses given to him by Melissa and Stiles, he still felt like he wasn’t given the whole picture; one didn’t know everything while the other one had misguided ideas on how to protect the head of Beacon Hills’ law enforcement.

He tuned back in when Scott bowed out of the argument and Alan started listing the things he had noticed. Noah’s eyes narrowed. If he had really been observing everything like he said, then why did he say or do anything about it before? Why wait until the pot was filled to the brim and overflowing?

His impression of the man was diminishing after each detail added to the growing list.

Noah’s attention was drawn to Stiles again. He was now standing next to Derek, leaning towards him and chattering and patting his back in a way that claimed familiarity. Stiles was tactile, Noah could attest to that, but only towards people he really cared about.

His gaze slid to Peter who had finally stood up from his seat by the stairs and glided to where Stiles and Derek were. Stiles didn’t even flinch when he joined the conversation, instead just snarked back instantly.

Noah sighed, leaving his place by the wall. Isaac gave him a look but then focused back on where Scott was talking to Allison and Lydia. Chris and Melissa were absent this time, but Noah knew they would contact him immediately afterwards.

If the kids weren’t keeping them in the loop, then they had to do it themselves.

“…don’t know.” He heard Stiles say. He glanced at him, noting the troubled look on his face. “I know I read it yesterday, that was the plan, but… I can’t recall any of it.”

“Maybe you were too tired?” Peter asked. Derek nodded.

“You haven’t really slept these past couple of weeks.”

Stiles snorted but the quirk on his lips was fond.

“Stalker wolf.”

And that was officially something Noah didn’t want to hear. Perhaps the birds and squirrels over their roof weren’t just that.

Christ.

 _Werewolves_.

The meeting didn’t reach any definitive conclusion and they mostly left with written notes and full heads. Noah frowned all the way home, barely able to focus on Stiles’ commentary on the evening.

Something bothered him and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He glared at the red stop light.

He didn’t like it.

***

Noah found Stiles sitting on the living room couch. Books were spread around him in a familiar fashion, only this time there were no magazines of bathroom tiles of different hues nor files upon files of supernatural material he had been collecting and checking with Peter for false information. No, this time there was just the regular books that the Beacon Hills High School made their students suffer. Noah squinted at one of them and, yes, he had definitely read that one in his sophomore year too.

Another dead white man, as Claudia used to say.

“What are you working on?” he asked, going through their mail. Some adverts, another flyer for the nearby pizza place, the electricity bill—fuck, the electricity bill. He quickly opened it and checked the date, sighing in relief. It wasn’t overdue; he hadn’t forgotten it in the midst of things.

The silence followed his hurried ripping of paper.

He turned back to Stiles, only to see that the kid hadn’t moved an inch. He was still staring at his book, eyes glassy and unseeing. With a few large steps he set the papers on top of what looked like a chemistry book and reached for Stiles, touching his shoulder—

Stiles let out a startled gasp, flailed, and fell on the surrounding wall of books.

“Wh—Dad! Make some noise, will you?” he said, hand over his heart. There were bags under his eyes. Noah scowled, remembering what the Hales had said a few days ago.

“Have you slept?” he asked bluntly.

Stiles reached for his face, fingers digging into the darkened skin around his eyes. They looked… dull, Noah noted with a grimace. Like Claudia’s.

When she was no longer herself.

“I—yeah, I, of course,” Stiles said, but his heart wasn’t in it. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Not much though.”

Noah piled some of the books and sat next to his son. Stiles pulled a history book from under him and what looked like a half-finished essay.

“What’s on your mind?” Noah asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Stiles.”

“Nothing!” he repeated. He rubbed his face, making the lines seem deeper. “It’s just… I don’t know. I just don’t know. I don’t—it seems like I’m reading all this and then it’s like… like nothing _sticks_. And even when it does, I have to read the questions like a million times, or three at least, and when they do… they don’t always make sense.”

From where he had risen to his elbows, he flopped down again, nearly hitting the corner of a hardcover.

“I don’t know, dad. Everything is just… weird. Sometimes I think I’m seeing things or—or losing things. If not for Cora bugging me in her scowly-snarly way I think I’d forget what day it is.”

And there the word was again.

Noah schooled his features carefully. He was glad that Stiles had closed his eyes because he was certain the ugly and dark spike inside him had become visible on his face. He counted to three inwardly, settling into the role of the Sheriff and letting it take the wheel from the worried father he really was.

“Is it the ice bath?”

Stiles shrugged listlessly, so probably yes.

“Maybe you should try to sleep. I’ll call the school, you can stay home tomorrow.”

His son blinked rapidly. He sat up in a flash. “Dad? You never do that.”

“Well, now I will. And you aren’t trying to skip for the heck of it.”

“No, I—but I—”

Noah sighed, reaching over and clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He squeezed lightly.

“I know.”

Stiles’ smile seemed watery. “I love you, dad.”

“And I love you son. Now, get. It’s nearly ten. You can do with one day of not going to bed after midnight.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Stiles stood up, stumbling a bit, and looked at all the books spread around. Noah just pointed at the staircase and said:

“Get.”

Stiles’ lips twitched. He collided with Noah in a tight hug and then he was marching upstairs. Noah watched him leave, waited until he heard the door close, before looking at the mess. He started collecting them all, trying to figure out the order in the middle of the chaos.

A paper slipped from one of the books and he stared at the picture painted on it.

Something audibly clicked in his head.

He swallowed.

***

Two hours later he was still up and nursing a cup of coffee. The bitter beverage had long since relinquished its energizing hold on him and now he was just drinking it for the taste. He had been awake for too long.

His gaze kept finding the picture of the accursed tree that was really a stump and more roots than anything else. He could tell that it wasn’t one of Stiles’ works—god knew the kid didn’t have an artistic bone in his body, much like his old man—but it was still a connection to the mad life they lived. The trouble that Alan kept insisting was approaching.

The Nemeton.

He had taken no notes, only stored his leads inside the library in his mind. He kept opening boxes he hadn’t touched for years, looking for something and everything that had to do with it. It was strange how long he could trace back the weird events if he included the little tidbits Alan had fed them. Even before the Hale fire, far longer than that.

He didn’t doubt that whatever was happening now had roots decades in the past.

If only he could see where they were leading him…

A frightened yell woke him from his thoughts. He was lucky to have his cup on the table and not in his hands because there was no way he wouldn’t have dropped it. Noah was on his feet in a fraction of a second, running upstairs in another one. He pulled Stiles’ door open, fumbling for the gun that wasn’t on him anymore, and—

Nothing.

No, not nothing.

 _Everything_.

Stiles was trashing on his bed, his mouth open in a wordless scream that pierced right through Noah’s heart. He was on the bed, pressing Stiles’ arms on the bed so he would stop scratching himself. There were deep red tracks trailing down his arms and Noah could see a drop of two of blood in them. It chilled him inside, worse than any crime he had witnessed ever had.

“Son!” he called out. There was no response to it. “Stiles!”

Stiles just kept twisting and turning. His brows had knitted together and there was a deep crease between them. His voice had quieted down into a wail, but no tears fell from his eyes.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Mieczysław!”

Something crashed against the window and Noah turned around only to see a worried-looking Derek standing there. A question died on his lips when he saw the ashen look on his face, the helplessness written in the glowing blues. Derek didn’t even spare him a glance as he was there in an instant, kneeling down and shushing. A sob broke out from Stiles and it stabbed Noah like a dagger in the night, just like what he was about to do himself.

He let go.

Derek immediately took his place and something black trailed upwards his veins. Noah couldn’t help but stare at the strange phenomenon even as his own heart lurched.

He registered from the corner of his eye how another figure made its way inside the room and he recognized it as Peter. Peter was panting slightly as he had been running his way there a hundred miles an hour. A phone was in his grip and Noah realized the screen had a crack or two on it.

Noah shifted again, drawing away as he locked his emotions behind the bars and let his rationality take over. He looked at the scene, detached, collecting every and each evidence he could.

The way Derek kept trembling as he brushed Stiles’ hair back.

The way Peter didn’t move from his perch, tense and nails like claws.

The way the supernatural glow didn’t leave either of their eyes.

…The way Stiles instinctually started calming down when the Hales arrived.

It twisted the blade inside Noah, but there was no one there he loathed more than himself. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen. And this was the result.

No words were exchanged that night.

There was no need for any of them, when the facts spoke their truth over the blind heart.

***

It didn’t take long for Noah to realize that nothing had transpired between Stiles and the Hales. Peter and Derek were there in the morning as well, though now they had relocated downstairs with Noah. They all looked like they hadn’t had a wink of sleep the whole night, he thought. There were dark circles around their eyes that even their supernatural side couldn’t wash away from their pale, drawn faces.

Noah stared at his face from the spoon he was just putting away. It had twisted his reflection, but the worry written in the lines on his face was still recognizable.

But what made him know for sure nothing illicit had happened between them—yet at least—was the way they reacted when Stiles stumbled down. There was no hiding their concern that Noah could see, though Peter did an admirable job trying, but they still kept their distance. It wasn’t a distance that was forced there by necessity; just one that no one knew how to cross.

Well. That the Hales knew how to cross.

Stiles just brushed against them, looking better rested than the three of them together. Noah was glad of that of course, but…

The wound in his heart kept bleeding.

He pulled Stiles to him, ruffling his hair as he did. Stiles protested loudly, complaining with a long whine of a “daaaaaaaaaaaad” but, tellingly, didn’t move. Only when Noah reluctantly let go did Stiles flop down on a chair of his, asking about the Hales’ presence.

Derek kept quiet.

Peter said something about the cabinets and wood types.

Stiles launched into an explanation of his own.

Noah… watched.

He watched them act out a play that had been in front of his eyes for weeks. A little game of cat and mouse, or was it cat and cat? Stiles and Peter argued, giving each one snide comment after another, snarking each other into early grave. Derek appeared to be ignoring them until the opportunity struck and he threw them both out of the loop. Stiles threw his arms in the air, Peter made a comment, Stiles reacted, and then it was like the show had restarted.

Except… it hadn’t.

For all it appeared to be just a quip against quip, an argument against argument, it was a game that no one was willingly to lose but where there were no clear rules to be seen. They were written in sand and washed away, leaving them all scrambling to remember the invisible lines.

None of them seemed to realize it—

—Except for Noah.

The Hales eventually left and Stiles sat down in the living room, again surrounded by his books. Noah glanced at the clock. He was due at work in ninety-three minutes.

“When’s a door not a door?” Stiles murmured to himself. Noah opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He watched his son stare at the blank page of his notebook like it was telling him the secrets of the world. In a second Stiles’ eyes widened and narrowed before blanking, leaving nothing behind but a sightless glare.

The picture of the Nemeton taunted Noah. Something dark crept down his spine.

“I’m going now.”

Stiles didn’t react.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, ok, dad!” Stiles answered then, giving him a quick grin. Noah nodded slowly, retrieving his keys.

“Remember to rest. I don’t want you to go anywhere today.”

“Sure. I’ll just call Scotty to get my homework.”

“You do that. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Have a good one!”

With a “you too” thrown over his shoulder, Noah locked the door behind him and started the car. He glanced at the time. Eighty-five minutes until ten. He dialed a number he had committed to memory and waited until a gruff “hello” blared from the phone on his lap. He pulled on the road.

Just enough time to drop by Alan.

***

It didn’t take long for Noah and Chris to get the word ‘nogitsune’ out of Alan. The way Chris paled didn’t dissolve any worry from Noah’s mind, only made them enlarge in size to almost consume him, but he kept his racing heart caged in the cold chains.

“You are not killing Stiles,” was the first thing that came out of Noah’s mouth. Chris blinked at him but nodded slowly. It left a sour taste on Noah’s tongue.

“There’s no killing such a creature,” Alan said calmly. They sat in his office as he was between clients, hunched over a book of old. Well, Noah thought dryly, a book was maybe a bit too generous; it was more of pages bound together into a haphazard booklet than anything else.

Chris frowned, contemplative. “Well that’s not good.”

Noah silently agreed with that; however, Chris’ own silence still rankled him. As if he was ready to kill a kid Allison’s age for something that wasn’t his fault.

Then again…

“There are, however, a few ways to defeat it.”

“Just say what you mean,” Noah said sharply. “This is my son’s life at stake.”

Alan paused for a brief second before conceding with a, “we can exorcise it from a host. One way is to use a sword powered with foxfire; only a fox can outwit another fox.”

“Let me guess. The host dies.”

Alan nodded serenely. “Which is why it is, of course, not an option,” he said.

Yet he still listed it as one, Noah thought bitterly.

“There is a possibility to use Wolf Lichen to subdue it,” Alan continued. “It wouldn’t last forever, and it is rare, only blooming where a nogitsune was defeated.”

“So basically an impossibility,” Noah said. He crossed his arms, unamused. “Give me something to work with or I swear to god…”

Alan opened a page on the booklet and turning it towards Noah and Chris. They bent over it but at least Noah could make no heads or tails on it. It was an old script, smudged ink and yellowed pages, ancient since its making. Chris huffed softly beside him.

A dark finger pointed the second page, close to the middle.

“It is said here that ‘should the host regain the will to fight, there lies a chance for the demon to split away, creating two halves instead of one whole’,” Alan recited and then added, “there is only one record of such an event and no mention how it was done. What is mentioned, however, is that both the host and the nogitsune were weakened.”

Noah stared at the page, trying to force it to make sense to him to no avail.

“There is also a legend of a scroll that could hold the secret of how to defeat one, but the location has been lost in time.”

“How can we know it hasn’t been destroyed?” Chris asked. Alan gave him a look.

“We don’t. But we can find out—”

“There is no time.”

Chris and Alan turned to Noah. His hands were in tight fists as he stared at the words that made no sense. He frowned, deep and hard.

“I want it out of my son,” he said. “Now.”

Chris hesitated before grunting, “it’s possible there’s no way to save him.”

Noah’s neck cracked with the speed he snapped to glare at the hunter.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris looked almost pitying. Noah wanted to punch his teeth in.

“I… have been there when a nogitsune attacked, once,” Chris said. “I’m one of the two that survived and not due to my own skills; even today I’m not entirely sure what happened there. I was young.” He turned to Alan. “The one that was defeated had a mask. Was that…?” His voice trailed off.

“It sounds like you defeated an oni,” Alan said after a contemplative silence. “I have not heard of a nogitsune using another mask except the person possessed.”

Chris looked like his suspicions were confirmed. The pity intensified on his face. “So it is quite likely that—”

“No,” Noah growled. His teeth clenched together, and he hissed, “there’s no way I’m accepting that as the answer. Not my kid. Not Stiles. He’s not something to throw away just because he doesn’t happen to be a _hunter_.”

Chris gave him a poisonous look at that, but Noah had endured much worse and there was no chance that someone like Chris could intimidate him. He leveled him with one of his own, the kind Claudia had called his ‘was chewed by the devil and got spat out’ look.

“My kid,” he said slowly. “Is the only reason these people are, that _we_ are, still alive. I don’t care how special you think the rest of them are—or _your_ daughter is—but I know what happened in that basement,” Chris flinched back as if punched, just like Noah had wanted to do earlier and even now did if he was honest, “and I won’t hesitate to drag you to court _with_ your daughter and _burn_ everything you love to ashes if you ever attempt to do the same to _my_ world.”

Chris looked at him, his face ashen. Noah stared back at him, unflinching and unyielding.

The only reason he knew what happened that night, despite Stiles’ best attempts at concealing the truth, was the one eyewitness account. He had tracked down the opposite team, demanded to know about the bruises, but none had claimed to know about them and one of them had witnessed someone with Gerard’s likeness taking Stiles away with strange men. It hadn’t made any sense to Noah at the time… until the revelation of supernatural.

The disappearances and subsequent deaths of one Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd.

The mysterious beating.

Everything Noah had heard of the Argent patriarch.

And, most damningly, one little comment made by the golden Argent girl herself.

He might not have evidence of the actual event, but he could pin it on them as well as the other skeletons that no doubt lingered in their closets. Noah had worked with the law for more than half his life and leading it for years.

Noah generally liked Chris—even felt kinship with him as the parents trying to keep their kids alive—but there was only one person in the whole world Noah would interpret the law for in a whole new way.

Being a father himself, Chris should understand that.

Chris cleared his throat. His voice was dry when he spoke. “What do you suggest then?”

Noah turned to Alan who had watched the proceedings with quiet look of… disapproval? Indifference? Approval? Noah couldn’t get a good reading on the man, but he didn’t particularly care to right now.

“You said something about the will to fight,” he said.

Alan inclined his head. “We need Stiles to realize there’s something wrong with him, that he can fight the demon and win.”

Stiles was strong enough to do that, Noah knew. So what they needed then was—

“Then we need the people who Stiles trusts without any reservation there.”

Chris looked pensive, but Alan gave Noah that little whisper of a smile of his.

Noah continued, “Stiles trusts few people, but those he does, he will follow to the ends of the earth. We need those people there. There’s no way Stiles will be willing to hurt them, and a nogitsune is a creature of hurt and pain.” Alan nodded at that. “Stiles will end their connection and force it out. And then there will be those who know him best to make sure they won’t be tricked by the fox.”

“You put an awful lot of trust in guesswork,” Chris grumbled. Noah sent him another scathing look.

“He’s _my_ son.” And Claudia’s, he added mentally, but that name wouldn’t mean anything to them. If it did, however, they would have known of the tempest she could be if incited, the will stronger than a diamond.

Chris sighed, raising his hands as if giving up.

“Fine. I’ll get Allison and Sc—”

“No.”

Chris and Alan blinked in unison, the first sign of surprise Noah had ever seen on the latter’s face. Noah was pure steel when stared them down and said:

“I’ll get the Hales.”

***

After his shift, leaving earlier than usual, Noah dropped by the loft.

When Noah knew where to look, he could see the signs there, written deep in everything Stiles did. The way he now sometimes walked with unnatural grace, only stumbling when someone was looking; the way he stood still at times as if listening to something he wasn’t supposed to be able to; the way he looked at his shadow, murmuring with a little grin:

_Everyone has it, but no one can lose it._

Wrong, Noah thought, with a grim smile of his own.

Luckily, he managed to corner the Hales when no one else was around. It had taken him just two sentences for Derek to try to burst out of the door, expression a half-snarl and eyes glowing. The only thing that kept him there was the hand Peter had on his arm.

The look in his eyes was as cold as winter as he said:

“I trust you have a plan?”

Noah did.

He explained it with the three of them sitting on the couch Stiles had bullied Derek to buy and Peter had commandeered the design of. He told them how they needed a space that wouldn’t be suspiciously out of the way, a reason for all of them to be there. He pulled out his notes, with the added commentary from Alan.

It could have gotten in only after the whole debacle with the Nemeton and “opening doors that shouldn’t be opened,” as Alan had cryptically said. Noah only cared about closing the said doors, but it had yielded him a time frame that wasn’t too bad.

“The nogitsune hasn’t gotten too tight of a grip yet,” Noah said. “The symptoms aren’t that severe. _Yet_. So theoretically it shouldn’t be too difficult to break either. We just need to oust it earlier than it requires to strengthen its hold on him.”

It would work, he hoped—believed, really.

Claudia was big on believing after all.

“I’m not willing to wait until we might unearth some long since gone scroll that could hold the key to its defeat. We have no idea how long that could take, and I want it out of Stiles before anything happens. I’ve heard enough of possessions to know there’s rarely a happy ending and I doubt the reality differs from fiction in this.”

“No,” Peter murmured, fingers calmly crossed but with nails sharpened at the tips. “They never do.”

Derek stared at the far end of the wall and said, “We wanted to bring Stiles to have a look at the finalized blueprints.”

Peter nodded slowly. “That could work,” he said, measuring his words. “But we don’t want to make it to the property. We don’t want more misery on the land if possible.”

Noah wondered if superstition was all that off from healthy caution after all.

“How about just here?” he asked.

Derek hesitated; Peter did not.

“We are rebuilding the house anyway, Derek,” he said. Derek’s gaze flicked on him but then nodded.

“Here is fine.”

Noah didn’t understand what came to pass between them, didn’t even pretend to. As much as he was part of this new world, didn’t mean he was a native. So instead of guessing with insufficient evidence, he just asked, “when?”

They settled on two days from then. It was a Friday and a full moon on top of that. The Hales’ senses would be at their best and Noah had the night off as well. The kids would be out of the way—Noah could ask Chris and Melissa for that favor.

Peter did say that Cora would be there too, to keep watch if nothing else. Somehow that didn’t surprise Noah at all. She wasn’t the most social and, from what he had heard from Stiles, rarely spoke to anyone but him and this new girl Kira. It seemed to annoy Lydia quite a bit, he remembered Stiles laughing.

With everything finalized, Noah took his leave. He had to get home to Stiles after all.

Just before he was closing the door, though, he could hear Derek mutter quietly:

“Thank you, I—I didn’t want… to… there.”

“He’s not dying,” came Peter’s resolute answer.

Noah didn’t hear Derek’s reply, but he was certain he didn’t need to.

***

Two nights later a nogitsune was locked away in a box provided by Alan, and Stiles fell in the arms of his father, scared and confused, with the three Hales standing around them, offering him the comfort only they could provide.

As he watched Stiles turn his head to look at the two standing men before them, trusting Cora to watch over his back, his eyes widened in wonder and—

It only took one skip of a beat for Noah to finally make the decision.

***

Stiles bounced back with surprisingly little difficulty. He was skittish in the beginning, counting his fingers, and touching people a lot more than usual, but overall there wasn’t any worrying aspects in his behavior. Perhaps he was a bit more jittery, but it could be begged to the confinement inside his mind, no matter how brief. His nightmares started lessening as well, which Noah was especially happy about.

Everything was, dare he say it, _good_.

Which is, naturally, when things exploded.

Literally.

Noah got the call from a frantic Scott and with the pretext of going to check out a call—which wasn’t so a lie, in the end— he rushed to the Hale house. The pack had gone to work on the project now that the base was mostly finished. Derek had wanted to work on the house himself, dragging Peter with him. Noah had suspicions about their motives but neither had said a thing nor had Stiles’ behavior changed back to the shiftiness of months ago.

He could almost smell the rubber burn as he braked hard behind the few cars there, ignoring the keys in the ignition and leaving the door open in his rush.

It took him less than two minutes to see familiar backs and then Scott was waving at him and pointing somewhere behind them. Noah’s attention zeroed in on the figure sitting down on the ground that everyone was watching with varying degree of wariness, surrounded by…

A bed of flowers?

Noah blinked rapidly but, no, the bright shades of blues, reds, and yellows and everything in between didn’t disappear anywhere.

Stiles sat in the middle of the sea of colors, a few sticking out of his shirt and more piled on his lap. He opened his mouth when he saw him but, rather than saying anything, his eyes crossed, and he coughed up a leaf or two.

Noah paused in his haste. He absently noted how the rest of the pack were standing further away from the chaos; naturally, Derek and Peter had to be the exceptions. Whereas Derek was looking worried, hand hovering over Stiles’ shoulder, Peter was staring at the leaf in his hand in fascination. He twirled it around, watching as the green of it seemed to almost shimmer. The shape didn’t look like anything Noah had ever seen before.

He tore his eyes away and settled his gaze back on Stiles. His son waved at him, managing to get to his feet only because Derek steadied him. The flowers fell down in a gentle shower.

“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles said, this time without any more stray leaves falling from his mouth.

Noah sighed in relief.

“Don’t do this to me, kiddo,” he begged, pressing a hand over his brows and rubbing the skin there. “I almost had a heart attack when Scott called.”

Stiles squinted what could have been a glare if it wasn’t so fond in the pack’s general direction.

“Scott worries too much.”

“Good thing too,” Noah said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have heard of this until this time next year.”

Stiles pretended to look affronted, hand coming over to his chest. “Slander!” he gasped. “From my own blood too!”

“It’s only slander if it’s not true,” Noah pointed out. Stiles shrugged sheepishly.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said. He stepped over the flowers, careful not to crush any of them. “I _have_ been good at keeping you in the loop, haven’t I?”

Noah pretended to think about it. Stiles made a face at him.

“Alright, alright,” Noah said, unable to keep the act up. His relief was too strong. He pulled Stiles in for a hug before he started inspecting him, trying to see for himself that his son was hale and hearty.

 _Ha_.

“Scott mentioned an explosion.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude,” he called out.

“It was!” Scott insisted. He had come closer, his hands mangling the magazine in his hands. “You just went all glowy and shimmery and then there were flowers _everywhere_!”

Noah looked around, seeing bits of color around the large area, the thickest concentration where Stiles had sat. Stiles took the time to cough again, three more leaves, something purple, and… a twig falling from his mouth?

“Eww,” Stiles said, grimacing. “What the fuck, man?”

“Language,” Noah said absently. His gaze trained in on Peter, whose expression had cleared, and which wonder had filled. He continued, “what is it, Peter?”

Peter held up the leaf. It really wasn’t anything Noah had seen before; something of a mix of an oak and a maple but with a shimmer of an evergreen.

“The Nemeton is healing,” Peter said, a delighted grin spreading on his face. “And it has chosen its new handler.”

“What?!” Stiles’ tone was drenched in shock and disbelief. “Just—you—I— _what_? I’m the least nurturing person to ever person, what’d it choose _me_ for?!”

Peter shrugged, unhelpful. Derek laid a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, a gentle joy filling his face.

“That’s the highest of honors,” he said. His fingers rubbed the skin it found there. Noah’s own hands twitched; he ignored them.

First things first.

“Will it stop him from going to college?” Noah asked. He stared Derek down for good measure. “He’s too good for letting that mind go to waste.”

“Dad!” Stiles snapped, but it was more of shock of having not considered that than anything else.

“No,” Peter answered. He came to stand over Stiles’ other side. “He just needs to come down every once in a while to keep it happy. Nemeta are very self-sufficient, but they are still mere trees no matter how sentient. They usually choose someone with inclination towards magic other than shapeshifting to be their voice.”

Stiles turned towards Peter, eyes wide. “Since when am I magic?!”

Noah would like to know that as well.

Peter’s look could only be called deadpan. “Mountain ash, Stiles?”

“Allison can use it too—”

“Without touching it?”

There was a brief pause.

“No,” Allison said from next to Scott. “I need to touch it to break it. And I can’t stretch it like Stiles can.”

Stiles’ eyes widened the same way Peter’s smirk did.

“There you go,” Peter said. There was no mistaking the smug overtone of it.

“Is that what Deaton meant by the ‘be the spark’ bullshit?” Stiles blurted out.

Noah felt a headache coming. “A ‘spark’, Stiles?”

Stiles blinked and blanched.

“Oops.”

***

Noah mulled over the explanation as he drove back towards the station. The road was bumpy from years of neglect. Peter and Stiles were in the car behind him, driving to Alan’s to find out more about the new situation. The pack had been left in Derek’s mercy, cleaning the flowers and continuing the building process. Now that his mind was clear, Noah could recall some impressive wall work being done. He’d have to return there when he was off-duty, to offer a hand.

He might not be a professional, but he had built Stiles’ crib and assorted other few pieces of furniture when he was a deputy.

A thought crossed his mind. A small smile made it on Noah’s lips, and he glanced from the rearview mirror at the wildly gesturing Stiles on the front seat of the Camaro.

Claudia’s words on believing suddenly made much more sense.

Noah briefly wondered if there was something in her line that bloomed within Stiles, that with the touch of the Nemeton woke up and which the nogitsune fanned into a flame, finally exploding when it couldn’t be held back anymore.

He liked to believe that her spark lived in their son, brighter than ever.

***

It was a nice night, Noah thought, watching Stiles cook two weeks later. He was starting the lessons to control the ‘spark’ as Alan did, in fact, call it. Stiles still coughed up a flower or two when he got excited but nothing like the first couple of days. He seemed to share a mostly dormant link to the Nemeton too, which fascinated Alan to no end but to which Stiles didn’t find as much enthusiasm towards yet.

“At least we now know if something tries to use it again for the evil deeds of doom and gloom,” Stiles had grumbled, eyes flicking towards the woods as he said it. “And I don’t care how much you grumble, you stupid twig. Just go back to hibernating and gathering your strength and whatnot, I have stuff to do.”

Mostly dormant, indeed.

Noah’s gaze found a new target with the other people in his kitchen. Cora had buried her head in the chemistry book, ignoring everything except the piece of bread in front of her. She was calmer now than ever before. Noah was glad to see that. Her restless air was finally dissipating, as if she was finally believing she didn’t have to run anymore. Noah had, in fact, gone by the Hale house to offer a hand and she had been the one to take him under her wing. They were almost ready to implement plans for the second floor now.

Yet it was not her he was mostly watching. It was her brother and uncle, again, who demanded Noah’s attention. Derek was sitting facing the window, but Noah could see how his eyes were trained on Stiles. Stiles himself was talking about anything and everything between Alan’s lessons and the string theory. There might have been a connection somewhere there, but Noah had lost it what felt like hours ago. The only person there who seemed to understand what Stiles was spewing out was Peter.

Stiles lifted his hand, trying to reach for something without looking. Noah tilted his head. There was nothing to find there, only kitchenware they’d left to dry last night. Was he looking for a lid…?

Peter opened a cupboard and handed him a bag of thyme. Stiles’ expression didn’t even move as he added a bit of it, only for Peter to hand him a ladle. He took it, again a flurry of movement, and… wait, why were the Kardashians now connected to the Civil War?

 _His_ _kid_.

When the dinner was over, Stiles and Cora went upstairs to finish their homework. Tonight was Derek’s turn at the dishes, which left Peter and Noah to their own devices. Noah hummed lowly. Peter seemed realize he was being scrutinized as he stiffened ever so slightly, his own eyes narrowing in return.

Noah flashed him a quick, satisfied grin, which threw Peter off if the twitch in his jaw was any indication. He could see the curiosity forming as well.

Perfect.

This meant that, when Noah sat down on the porch, he didn’t stay alone for long.

“There is man, a very sick man, being cared for a couple of states over,” Noah said genially. He couldn’t see Peter, but he knew he was standing somewhere behind him.

“Oh?” Peter voiced noncommittally to his left.

“Weird man, George Armand. The doctors in Colorado don’t know what to make of him, spewing up black thick liquid that no one seems to be able to identify really.”

An extended silence fell over them. Noah could hear the birds sing in the nearby trees. He watched as a light lit up in a window across the street.

Peter’s voice was hoarse when he said:

“Why tell me this?”

Noah rose, dusting his pants, and turned towards him. There was a tortured but hungry gleam in his eyes, like a beast barely able to restrain himself. The expression was wholly unlike the one he had looked at Stiles with.

Noah moved past him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he did.

“You are a good man, Peter Hale. Remember that.”

***

There was no trace of the desperation on Peter when Stiles and Cora came back down and Derek had finished with the dishes. Instead, he and Noah were sitting by the TV, discussing the current political conflict of something or another abroad that the US was sticking its fingers in. There seemed to be far too many of them lately.

Stiles groaned and flopped down on the couch next to Peter. Cora snagged a pillow from her uncle and sat on the floor, leaving Derek with the seat on the other side of Stiles. Between the snark and confusion, Stiles had stolen the remote and switched to a house makeover, claiming that “it’s for research purposes!” Though if the way they kept calling the people blind idiots, it wasn’t particularly a good one.

At least it was entertaining.

He found himself staring at the pictures on their walls; ones with Claudia and him, ones with all three of them, and then of him and Stiles, or Stiles and Scott—mostly just Stiles though. A timeline of their life.

A few more pictures could fit in there, he thought.

They were starting a new phase after all.

***

The next week Peter said a client had called for him and he had to leave for a couple of weeks. He promised to get them souvenirs, which prompted a “I’m not a kid” from Cora and a rude gesture from Derek. Only Stiles seemed to appreciate the offer; he was also the one who moped the most when Peter was gone.

Two and a half weeks later Peter was back with a bag full of clutter, a couple of hundred grand in his pocket, and a paper trail a mile wide, claiming he was in Mexico for the entirety of the time. A missing person’s flyer made it to Noah’s desk but, as it was a case in Colorado, it wouldn’t do much in California. Probably just a mistake that it was sent there.

He shredded it with the other useless papers people thought the Sheriff of Beacon County had to know but really didn’t.

That night Noah’s heart felt light when he went to the bed and he slept like the dead.

***

It was mid-March when the Hale house was finished.

The exterior was very impressive, Noah thought, as he inspected the paintjob. The rich color reminded him of the houses that were made to look older on purpose but would then never show marks of wear when well-maintained. It had been one of the things Peter and Derek had instantly agreed on; apparently it was one of the traits of the previous house as well.

There was space for other buildings to come, a greenhouse perhaps—Noah had seen the blueprints. They weren’t priority though. The interior was.

As Noah walked around, he smiled as he saw the stairs to the second room. He could see his own touch in there, his and Cora’s, even if the decoration was all Derek. The bathrooms had the hues Stiles had argued for and the kitchen was massive with a counter in the middle of it. A dining room, a living room; bedrooms plenty enough, from guest room to a large main. A soon-to-be library.

An attic with a skylight.

He found Stiles fawning over the kitchen, hand sliding over the countertop. It would be easier to clean than theirs, Noah noted. The fridge and the freezer were separate, both big enough to hide a man the size of a mountain inside.

He snorted.

“So,” he said. “When are you moving in, son?”

“I wish,” Stiles said dreamily. “It’s everything I ever wanted.”

Noah saw Derek flush happily from the corner of his eye, but there was also a tingle of sadness in it. Peter’s lips moved as well, slightly downwards. They were both standing a little out of the way, almost as if afraid to cross the distance. Stiles probably hadn’t even noticed they were there.

A Claudia-approved idea filled his mind and his lips twitched.

“Waiting for them to ask for your hand?” he asked casually. The Hales stiffened.

Stiles sighed, deep and regretful. His lingering hand paused in its ministrations as it clenched.

“Dad, it’s not like they even really like me or anything.”

Noah felt like one of the stars in the soap operas Peter claimed he hated but was secretly addicted to. He had the sudden urge to, what was it, ‘facepalm’? Yes, facepalm. Let his hand meet his face with enough force to leave a mark.

“Son,” he said. The tone of his voice—his suffering, he bet—was enough for Stiles to turn around. “They built a fucking house for you. If that’s not ‘like’ or an ostentatious romantic gesture, then I don’t know what is.”

“Language,” Stiles said automatically. Then he blinked before his eyes widened. “ _What_ did you just say?”

Noah leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

“Claudia, my love,” he said. “I am sorry for I have failed you. Our son grew up into an idiot.”

“ _Rude_.”

“Kid. Kiddo. If you don’t see how much they care about you, I need to take you to get some glasses, because you are getting blinder the closer you get legal. Which is another point I am very glad you have adhered to,” he said, turning to face the Hales. Derek was pale as a sheet while Peter attempted casual aloofness but didn’t quite manage it.

“I—” Stiles was, for once, at a loss with words. Noah would usually savor this moment but, right now, it was merely giving him a headache.

“A house, Stiles. The bathroom tiles? The room that’s almost certainly going to be a library? _The_ _attic_?” Stiles gaped at him. Noah just shook his head in return. “It’s like they gave you free hands to pick and choose your perfect house.”

“Close,” Cora said from where she appeared behind him. She leaned against the cupboard on Noah’s right. “The other part’s because Stiles has better taste than Derek and there’s no way we would let Peter make all the decisions. It would have been ostentatious and pretentious as fuck.”

“I resent that,” Peter snapped, revealing just how off-balance he was. Usually he would have eaten the banter for breakfast.

Cora gave him an unimpressed look. “You do that.”

Stiles turned to face Peter. The badly-hidden clench of teeth and a tick in his jaw told tales. That, and Derek’s hopelessly hopeful eyes together made quite a pair. Stiles’ breath hitched.

Noah decided to ignore that for the moment. He raised his brows at Cora.

“Are you still ignoring Lydia?”

Cora shrugged, a small smile curling on her lips. “She always looks so mad about it.”

“Kids and their courtships these days. Is this a wolf thing?” Cora shook her head. “I thought so. When I was dating Claudia, she just told me to take her out when I waited too long in her opinion.”

Noah gave Derek and Peter a look. “Stiles didn’t inherit her observation skills. He’s just as blind romantically as I am, and I’m self-aware enough to admit it. Spell it out loud if needed, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to understand anything subtler.” He paused. “Not that the house was subtle. Just shows you what to expect, I guess.”

“Dad!” Stiles let out a horrified gasp.

“There’s less than a month until he’s eighteen,” Noah continued. “And despite my earlier jokes, he’s moving in only after he graduates from college if that’s still what he wants. So no pressuring him.”

“ _Dad_!”

“What?” Noah gave his son a look. Stiles was turning into an interesting shade of pink, clashing with his pale pallor and red cheeks. “They built a house. For _you_. And don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about; I can see how much you adore the two of them yourself. Here’s a hint: it’s about as much as they do you.”

“It’s probably just—just—I don’t know, they _can’t_ have meant that.”

The glare Cora hit Stiles with made him pick his jaw with a click. “They made you and this pack a den,” she said sharply. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“You just said it wasn’t a wolf thing,” Noah pointed out. Cora rolled her eyes towards the heavens.

“It’s not,” she said. “It’s a Hale thing. And I bet those idiots were either clueless themselves or just in for it for the pain and all ‘woe-is-me’.”

Noah blinked. Her words rang a bell. He gave Derek and Peter a considering look, seeing everything in a new light. He pointed at Derek.

“You didn’t think you deserved it, did you?” he said. Derek paled even further beneath his skin if possible. He gave another look at Peter who seemed to finally give up his fight with his composure and just looked tired and exhausted. “And you. You didn’t either.”

The silence than fell in the kitchen was basically a confirmation in itself. He rubbed the skin between his eyes. It was fast becoming his go-to gesture with everything Stiles and supernatural-related.

“I won’t bother with a talk about guns and wolfsbane, because I know you’d kill yourself before hurting him—” or someone _else_ for hurting him, “—but he’s the most precious thing left to me in this world, so try not to hurt each other too much.”

Three pairs of wide eyes stared at him. He stared solemnly back at them.

“I’m going to take my leave now,” he said. “And I want the three of you to just sit down and discuss this. It’s,” he gave his wristwatch a look, “almost two, so you have time. After that, I expect you _all_ to be home before seven or I’ll order the biggest, greasiest pizza I can find, and I _will_ clog my arteries with the pleasure of it. That clear?”

The mute nods gave years back to his lifespan. Stiles looked troubled, wide-eyed and unsure, and he opened his mouth.

“Da—"

“Great,” Noah said, interrupting him. He knew from experience that if he let him continue, Stiles would manage to avoid the confrontation and tell himself the same lies the Hales were apparently masters of. The three of them deserved each other. “And this is officially all I ever want to know about this subject.” He turned to Cora. “You need a ride?”

“Sure. I don’t want to be here when things get sappy,” she said. And then she held her hand up in a high five. Noah smirked even as Stiles squawked.

He slapped her hand, and then promptly turned his back to the hopeless wolves and his equally hapless son. He climbed in his car and actually laughed out loud when Cora popped by the Camaro, only to swing back with the keys in tow.

“You need a pep talk too?” Noah asked when he and Cora drove down the road.

“I’m good,” she answered. “Think we could pop by the café next to the mall? Lydia’s usually around there at this time and I want to ignore her some more.”

Noah snorted. He hit the turn signal.

“Sure. Why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought of this if you have the time to spare :)


End file.
